


Staring into open flames

by bluegrass



Category: Naruto, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Crack Treated Semi-Seriously, Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, Family Bonding, Fix-It of Sorts, Is this what they call a..., Lan Wangji as Hyuuga Neji, Light Angst, M/M, Reincarnation, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Uchiha!WWX, Wei Wuxian is a Good Brother, age gap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Lan Wangji thinks he's left alone again, but who would've thought that his husband would be born first and older than him this time around.And while the husband in question waits patiently for his soulmate to magically appear and sweep him off his feet, Wei Ying does not make a good fuddy-duddy Uchiha.
Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Comments: 178
Kudos: 729
Collections: Identity Crisis, Reincarnation and Transmigration





	1. First Flame (Somebody stop me PLEasE)

Admittedly, Lan Wangji thinks, there is only so much one can take before breaking down. He’s lost his mother, father, the love of every lifetime promised since their wedding – once, only to regain him again – his son, uncle, and then his brother. All lined neatly in that particular order, Uncle's and brother’s case had been due to old age for the former, and ascension for the latter; A-Yuan’s had been getting married off, but still, the losses ultimately ached to each their own.

The loud cries are well deserved, in his humble opinion. He can vividly hear his husband’s hypocritical voice telling him to _let it all out_ despite internalising everything and anything harmful to himself. 

(Let it all out, Lan Wangji latches on to the words, reminiscing on memories too obscene were he an actual infant.)

Indeed, he will. Rather crudely actually, sounding quite like a new-born baby.

Exaggerating has been forbidden in the Cloud Recesses since the day Jin Ling accidentally misdiagnosed Wei Ying dead on a night hunt gone awry. Subsequently, Lan Wangji had not taken the news well. Hence, after one pair ofcomatose husbands and two decimated forests, the rule was set up and Wangji has thus followed it accordingly since.

Being the good Gusu Lan disciple, Lan Wangji does not exaggerate. How straightforwardly can he say this more? His cries are as loud as a baby’s because he is a baby. Wrinkly skinned, wet from head to toe. Lan Wangji doubts he can even lift his head without breaking his neck.

Where is this? Is this another of Wei Ying’s incense pranks? He’s told him to stop. Ineffectively, considering how Wei Ying only needs bat his pretty eyes and Lan Wangji will forgive him in about anything.

It’s dark, has he mentioned? Lan Wangji finds that he cannot open his eyes. The sounds that surround him are muted almost, like his mind is foggy from its young age and an unnecessary amount of time will be needed to process simple things.

Lan Wangji is skilled in many arts, but child development isn’t included in those specialties. Childcare, _perhaps,_ because A-Yuan is probably the only child in the brood of children he and Wei Ying had raised that hadn’t turned out to rival his husband in his rambunctiousness.

A-Yuan at least knows how to keep his inner-prankster under wraps. The others not so much.

Warmth suddenly surrounds him, the familiar softness of a blanket soaking up the fluids Lan Wangji had recently emerged from. A towel, estimated to be as big as he, wipes him down from where Lan Wangji is wrapped securely.

Excess emotion is also forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. More so on acting and showing them, rather than feeling. Lan Wangji’s impulse control is currently poorer than his husband, unfortunately, and he wails and wails and wails some more because he cannot stop wailing.

Taken men shall not be seen naked by anyone save their spouse, much less wiped down unless the situation is unavoidable. Where is his husband? Wei Ying?

_Wei Ying!_

The man says something, language entirely unfathomable.

It’s rude to make noise when somebody is speaking and Lan Wangji tries to stop, earnestly, dedicatedly. The sobs do lessen, but by a pathetically small margin. Lan Wangji inwardly grimaces.

Where is his forehead ribbon? He needs both right now. Self-regulation works best when practiced regularly – the strip of fabric acting as a trademark conditioner. And though Wei Ying does the exact opposite to him, he will at least feel much more comforted in the presence of his cultivation partner. Whom, by Lan Wangji’s inferior senses, is nowhere near him in voice or scent.

_Wei Ying… do not leave me again._

Lan Wangji forces his eyes open by sheer force of will. He succeeds arguably easily. There lives a pressure behind his eyes, one he’s not felt before. Gasps set off like the flicker of pages in the wind and Lan Wangji is greeted by… a man who doesn’t have pupils?

Assuming the voice belongs to him, this is possibly his new father. He may also be blind, Lan Wangji observes. The thought fades by the second when another head pops up in his vision. The mid-wife? Has no pupils either. And they’re looking at him with a clear sense of focus.

He is starting to believe that he belongs to a family or Sect like the girl A-Qing.

The man says something, brows furrowed and tone worried. The woman replies him calmly, head slick with sweat that Lan Wangji focuses on for the sake of his sanity. 

He is officially lost. He cannot make any sense of the language they’re speaking whatsoever.

_Wei Ying! Your Lan Zhan cannot live without you._

Strong arms cradle him tighter, lifting Lan Wangji up slightly from his previous height. “Neji. Hyuuga Neji.” He says tenderly. He repeats the words again and again. Like he wants Lan Wangji to ingrain it into his soul. Lan Wangji thinks that it’s his new name by the way his (new?) father kisses his forehead and cheeks while repeating the words.

 _Neji. Hyuuga Neji._ In a new and foreign place without Wei Ying or a language he understands, Lan Wangji - to his friends and family, Lan Zhan to his husband, Hanguang-Jun to everybody else - is now Hyuuga Neji.

A good Gusu Lan disciple should celebrate the birth of life and be grateful for the gift of living. Lan Wangji finds that he hates the experience already.


	2. Second Flame

For all intents and purposes, most of his newest family think of Lan Wangji as a slow, dim-witted child.

He can read it in their half-pitying gaze, the way his father hovers above him restlessly, his mother’s flustered voice, the doctor’s own deadpan responses and sighs. Lan Wangji’s expression pinches every time they showcase any of the aforementioned traits, he finds he cannot help it.

Although being boastful is also forbidden according to the Wall of Discipline, Lan Wangji sustains quite a bit of pride in himself after many, many decades of his husband’s shameless piling of praises on his Hanguang-Jun who is so great, so good. So powerful, so beautiful, and is able to satisfy his Wei Ying in every way.

Lan Wangji isn’t slow. He isn’t dim-witted either. His talents simply take time to realign themselves. All things considered, Lan Wangji is progressing (not at all) excellently in learning a new language and, by subtle cues, a new culture entirely while not letting his freak out show; in which paid with the unfortunate price of him coming off rather… unresponsive.

It is also neither here nor there that generally, boredom is particularly prevalent during his time as an immobile and helpless baby. Lan Zhan has little else to do than feel so numb his soul flies away from away from his body; or, on a better if rude note, quietly correct his caretakers in a voice that sounds a lot like the love of his life.

 _Boredom,_ a word Wei Ying loved to say in many contexts and variations of the word.

“I’m bored, dear.”

“Are you going to just leave me here to be bored to death, cruel husband of mine?”

“Entertain me, Lan Zhan.” Not bored exactly, but the intent is close enough.

Unlike Wei Ying, boredom doesn’t come easily to Lan Wangji. When the room his crib resides is deathly quiet, save for the occasional birdsong and sweep of wind that whispers outside, meditation alone can keep him occupied.

Thinking about his husband can occupy hours of his whole-hearted attention too, an entire day if the man himself is in mere proximity. But recently, thinking about Wei Ying makes him emotional – a poor combination with a baby’s poor control over their emotions. Lan Wangji cannot afford the devastating heartbreak once more as an undisciplined baby, so he gently boxes his husband in the deep recesses of his mind to address another day.

Undoubtedly, he will yearn again. Though in this lifetime quietly, resignedly, hopefully. Despite the shame and hurt that fills him, it _helps_ when he makes Wei Ying second priority.

The Second Jade of Lan will not be a nuisance. People can’t always be there to cater him when he cries out of the blue, after all. It’s shameful and it’s as not if Wei Ying is some toy the Hyuuga Clan can bring out, wave in front of Lan Wangji, and coax his quiet.

In which reminds him, Lan Wangji will probably commission a small jade statue of Wei Ying one day. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain it to his parents, but Lan Wangji will get by one way or another. Lying’s a last resort, but Lan Wangji is always desperate for Wei Ying.

He’s broken far more serious rules for his husband.

Far, far serious.

Counting the number risen suns and fallen moons, Lan Wangji will turn three months soon.

He meditates when he isn’t sleeping. He meditates to stave off embarrassment, the tearful fit that threatens to overwhelm his better senses when he’s to get used to being cleaned up everywhere, whereupon everyone may see _everything._

He notes that his caretakers too wear thin strips of ribbons around their foreheads. Just like those in the Gusu Lan Sect. His current father is the same, except more of a headband with a large plate of metal in the middle, engraved with a strange seal-like symbol that Lan Wangji can’t recognise.

There is the idle wonder if the Hyuuga’s forehead ribbons are as equally treasured as those back home due to what it represented, and if it is, why is his father’s different? Why does his uncle – for the twins share the same face – not wear his?

Is Lan Wangji going to receive his own? Whatever it may mean, it is the thought that ultimately counts. 

Nevertheless, unanswered questions aside, Lan Wangji spends his time learning and absorbing the language here whenever he can. And when he’s not, relief floods his veins in being capable enough to fall back into the familiar habit of meditation.

Previously, Lan Wangji had meditated to calm his spirit, focusing on the mental bricks for the domineering walls around his mind and heart, the memories of his family from before protected in a humble cottage surrounded by gentian flowers. On this thankfully peaceful evening, he searches for the golden warmth that is supposed to spin where his core lays.

“…” Nothing.

Though his face expresses a deep sleep, Lan Wangji is hardly calm when he internally scrambles about trying to find it and _failing_.

He quickly determines that his golden core is no more and muffles the urge to choke out a sob. _Is this what Wei Ying felt, so many years ago?_ Lan Wangji lingers on the implications, rides the wave of devastation like he does Bichen – very stoically – and promptly wraps himself in a thin bedsheet of denial.

Hm. Once more.

The full force of his concentration makes sweat bead on his milky skin, as if forcing the orb of gold to spin into existence because _Heavens help him_ if he has to rebuild his entire cultivation from scratch _alone._

Instead of a golden core, Lan Wangji triggers something else. The seemingly formless surge of warmth he expects to feel from spiritual energy isn’t exactly there. Well, it feels _like_ it, but isn’t. Rather, a replacement of sort spreads throughout his body in; Lan Wangji can feel power flowing through his hands, legs, body, and most prominently, in his eyes.

He opens them, stifling an ugly wail. Almost immediately, he hears the clumsy slide of feet, the knock of several bodies against wood. As if whoever is hastily making their way here had accidentally slipped and fell in their rush. “Neji!” His father startles Lan Wangji with his dishevelled appearance, face suddenly popping up from over the crib’s wooden edge.

His father’s fumbling is followed by his uncle’s. Lan Wangji tells himself that it’s okay to be slightly confused at first. He doesn’t have to know their identities by heart without relying on other signs (like their different forehead ribbons – the lack thereof on his uncle) as he’s only been here for a few months. It’s inappropriate and shameful, though, to not know your sire without second guessing oneself. Lan Wangji blinks up at the two who speak among themselves without consideration for the distressed baby.

Everything’s just too loud at this point. Lan Wangji’s vision flickers between reality and some sort of warped world where the backdrop darkens and he can see every vein and artery that pumps blue through his father and uncle. His head is throbbing and he’s crying before he knows it.

No golden core, no Wei Ying, plus his eyes are starting to hurt like his thirty-three scars on a rainy day.

Inconvenient. Lan Wangji’s strength drains faster than spiritual energy activated on a transportation talisman before Wei Ying created a newer, more efficient design.

 _Byakugan, Byakugan, Byakugan_ – his uncle and father keeps repeating the same term in between spouts of rapid… language. Lan Wangji finds their emotions hard to decipher. Shock, disbelief, happiness, one of them have made at least two of those expressions per (what sounds like) sentence.

Who… No, _what_ is a Byakugan? Lan Wangji has so little to go on here. He’s not even a picture book to associate words and meanings despite being very willing to learn. He knows the words that mean meal or dinner or diaper change and something along those lines. It isn’t enough. The issue of pure illiteracy and incomprehension must be rectified as soon as possible. 

Before he can repeat another cycle of the how(s) and when(s), however, Lan Wangji’s consciousness shuts down abruptly, as if his body can no longer support itself, forcing Lan Wangji to replenish…

Replenish what?

Chakra, he’ll soon learn. Byakugan on a three-month old is one try too much.

He wakes up and learns several new words. _Prodigy_ , they call him. _Side-branch_ , another. Lan Wangji reattempts meditating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classes were cancelled and one would think it'd make a person more productive on stuff like assignments. But noooo, it's harder to work. And for some reason, my country's government is banning online classes?? In this March? Where we aren't even allowed to sit in to eat and must take away our food???
> 
> Oh wells. Keep clean and stay strong, everyone. Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked this!


	3. Third Flame

Better sooner than later, Lan Wangji settles into a resigned sort of acceptance. He understands that he’s certainly in no place near Gusu or Yunmeng or Qinghe. His uncle slips him from his room one fine morning because he detests being seen smiling over Lan Wangji for some reason, and shows him a map on the wall of his study. 

“Fire country.” He points at one of the larger pieces of land shaded in a pale red. Lan Wangji makes a loud sound by pure surprise. _Fire!_ Fire, earth, wind, water, lightning, rock. There are so many words he recognises. Hiashi-ojisan, though, pronounces them differently one by one. 

When in Gusu Lan, one must act as its disciples do and what the Wall of Discipline states. He quickly carves all their pronunciations into memory.

If Lan Wangji was someone still in denial, he’d lie to himself, shallowly convinced that this... new language was simply a dialect he’s not heard of. That’s not the case anymore. Now wiser, Lan Wangji is thoroughly convinced from the depths of his mind that his current state is... permanent. Lan Wangji won’t bother trying to believe otherwise. 

The thought is further cemented when it’s clearer than jade that the continent he’s on is obviously not the continent Lan Wangji recognises. 

“Konoha.” His uncle then points at the symbol Lan Wangji sees his father wear on his forehead band. Konoha. Is that where he is? Every… country? Seems to have their own unique symbols too. Are they like sects? Like the Lan from Gusu, the Jiang from Yunmeng?

Lan Wangji is in Konoha from Fire.

His uncle looks awfully proud of himself when he sets Lan Wangji back into his crib.

//

Lan Wangji is barely eight months old when his doting father, who coos and wiggles his fingers and sings soft lullabies for him, greets him with a frown instead of a smile for the first time. His mother - stern and with a voice as calming as a flowing stream, completely unlike Madam Lan - accompanies him, a tiny pinch between her brows just like him. 

She forces a small smile on when she catches him staring, and Lan Wangji admits it throws him off kilter slightly. He’s not afraid despite being vulnerable in many ways, merely worried. Because although his mother’s hands are strangely calloused and scarred, she is always gentle when she handles Lan Wangji. Like his love for Madam Lan that’s yet to fade even if he’s forgotten her face, her voice, the way she tied her hair, Lan Wangji knows to never fear Neji’s mother because in both lives, his mothers have nothing but love for him. 

What’s wrong? He cannot ask, tongue unpracticed as it is. His vocabulary has greatly improved over the course months since he fainted from opening some form of third eye he’s sure is called Byakugan. The term’s meaning is lost on him, but Lan Wangji assumes that it’s normal in this family after the healer’s have changed in front of him during the following check-ups. 

_Was that how I looked?_ Had been Lan Wangji’s first thought. _Wei Ying would find it funny,_ had been the second. 

Lan Wangji, with what meagre bucketfuls of words he knows, understands his father when he says, “Isn’t he too young?” 

Too young for what, exactly? Lan Wangji’s heart rate increases by an additional beat per second. He wiggles in his crib, chubby hands reaching up instinctively. It’s never failed to make them brighten and pay attention to him no matter the time of day. Going by the fading stifling heat and orange light, it’s almost evening now, perhaps chen-shi. Lan Wangji will have dinner in one hour, and then sleep until hai-shi to eat again. 

His parents do pay attention to him. Stroking his cheek softly before exchanging looks to each other, almost like they know he isn’t a simple baby. They don’t. Lan Wangji often has people whispering around him, likely because he’s asleep more often than not, equally reluctant to make noise, and makes a face - as Wei Ying calls it - when his surroundings grow too noisy. 

The conversation that goes on between husband and wife, especially when the pair have carefully nurtured their relationship in love - it’s a special bond, and kills two birds with one stone. Lan Wangji gets his silence whether he likes it or not, and they get an entire discussion done within a few minutes. Lan Wangji cannot fault them; Wei Ying and he were so married that poems and songs were created in their memory. 

Able to read each other with a single glance, some praise, a feat admirable considering Lan Wangji’s natural stoicness. Lan Wangji would still like to know what his parents are saying, though. 

Another smile quirks on his mother’s lips once her husband’s eyes meet Lan Wangji’s; her son’s automatically met with a great big smile from the man, and the curve on her lips becomes more genuine than the last. She picks up Lan Wangji carefully and cradles him against her chest. “He is too young,” she replies convincingly evenly, though tension underlines her agreement. 

“The elders have lost their minds.” Lan Wangji, sadly, understands only a third of that - the elders part, because someone had pointed at some old men that reminded him of his sect’s own elders and said so. He warbles incomprehensibly, feeling Hizashi’s finger pinch his nose.

Not even his brother had pinched his nose as a child! Not that he remembers, anyway.

“What does your brother say?” Brother, aniue. Lan Wangji dares to think he’s getting a handle of the language. He’s mastered the script, standard Chinese, Gusu dialect and then Yunmeng dialect. He can and will tackle this issue perfectly. 

“His hands are tied. What the elders want, the elders get. At peace, my heart. If Neji isn’t ready, they cannot force an infant to grow.”

Lan Wangji frowns at the unfairity. He hears his name, helpless to understand why it stands in the same sentence as ‘elders’. As far as Gusu Lan matters went, it cannot be a good thing. The crickets have started to sing, the sound of explosions firing close enough to be be of concern have become too common for Lan Wangji to pay any mind. 

His father sighs while his mother’s hold on him tightens.

She sets him down on the floor, softened by square straw mats that fit perfectly against each other to fill up the room. Tatami, they’re called. Tatami, Lan Wangji has a feeling that this language will be as beautiful as the one he knows. 

She pulls a scroll from the large airy sleeves of her Kimono and when the scroll unwinds, several books fall from it. Lan Wangji is less surprised than he looks. Though his first words were Wei Ying, said in the middle of formal family dinner after Lan Wangji was woken up abruptly by the clinkling of chopsticks, Lan Wangji says his second words now. “Kaa-san,” seems to be about right. His mother’s expression had been rather unsettling trying to teach him, after all.

She jerks where she’s arranging the books before her son. “Neji.”

“Kaa-san.”

“Neji,” her voice cracks. “Speak again.”

“Kaa-san.”

She practically yanks her husband’s sleeves so hard he stumbles forward to his knees. “Did you hear our Neji? He-!”

Lan Wangji inches back on wobby feet at his father who’s practically vibrating from his skin. “Neji, won’t you call me as well? Try it once for me, please. Otou...”

No point being stingy with his words at the expense of his parents’ happiness. “Tou-san,” Lan Wangji says, surprisingly fluent even if his accent is a little funny. Husband and wife don’t seem to notice, however, and his father visibly beams. The man snatches up the book nearest to his feet and flips half of it open. It’s a picture book with words. 

“This is a dog.” Lan Wangji is shown, and frowns in silence despite his father’s persistence to make him talk more. “I-nu, Neji.” 

The Heavens have heard and listened. Lan Wangji’s eyes widen visibly with interest, baby balance apparently gone at the speed he takes off to get a closer look. Unfortunate for his father, he won’t say ‘dog’. He clunkily tries to lift his father’s hand to flip to another page that doesn’t have the picture of dogs Wei Ying hates. 

His parents laugh, one loudly, the other quietly. 

“Eager to learn, are we?” 

Lan Wangji would nod like a chick pecking at grain if he understood. Nevermind that he’s years younger than when the Lan Sect offers their baby diciples their first books to read. Lan Wangji will contemplate the ethics of Konoha’s child raising later. He has an entire library to tear through after he consumes the… seven books generously given to him, each harder than the last.

Graciously, patiently, Lan Wangji’s mother walks him through his katakana, hiragana, and kanji. It’s not like Mandarin, where one memorises the word entirely. This language has a system in place, where one can make words from strokes that make up 8 basic forms. It’s interesting, and would be easier to learn if it weren’t for the three types of writing systems to understand and apply in addition to everything else. 

Lan Wangji studies like a baby possessed - is he, actually? Until his mother has to forcefully lift him from the ground, ruining the perfect posture he’s been practicing for quite a while now, while his father coos and crows baby speak at him. Lan Wangji struggles weakly, hoarding two books against his chest as a final compromise. 

Wei Ying’s, amazing at languages and everything he does that he probably wouldn't even need the books because he simply talked and saw so _much,_ would’ve laughed at the childishness. He would also have been just as besotted with Lan Wangji as Lan Wangji would be with him no matter what each other did. 

By the time he’s a year old, Lan Wangji can proudly say that as far as everyday conversation goes, he can understand most of his caretakers’ gossip. He’s also spoken much more within these few months than he has in an entire year before he met Wei Ying. Lan Wangji doesn’t think it’ll be a good thing for anyone if somebody overly suspicious realises the unnatural dips in his accent, or the odd way he structures his sentences. 

The Hyuuga clan is no civilian clan. Not cultivators either. Lan Wangji has more than once caught his father bandaged to the nines, specks of blood dried on his face and under his nails as he drags himself to his room at five in the morning. There are clan members to help him occasionally, but the important thing to note was: nobody found it unusual. 

Not to say Lan Wangji is guilt-free from murder. During the war with the Wens, he’d killed his fair share of people for attacking his home. Killed, because greedy men that mattered were set on taking over what isn’t theirs for no good reason than to accumulate power to tyrannise perfectly innocent people. 

Does his father fight for justice, for the weak and for what is right? To live life without regrets until his very last breath, or does he brandish his weapon for another madman in the making? The Wen members that may’ve not wanted to fight - like the Wen remnants - but were forced to for Wen Ruohan, Lan Wangji cut down too. 

As much as talking troubles him, Lan Wangji will practice his speaking anyway because it’s better safe than sorry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT:** I’m so sorry to those coming to read this after seeing _WWX as Itachi_ tag because that’s not the case anymore. I wanted Sasuke to have a ‘good’ brother figure that wouldn’t traumatise him at first, but then I realised Itachi needed the same. Both deserve better, and so now, WWX is born before both (baby deserves to have his own body back too - 3rd life rodio and all). 
> 
> And because it’s such a beautiful coincidence, thirteen years (to pine) before LWJ is born and more coincidentally, old enough to be Kakashi’s first best friend as fellow prodigies! Haha, boy do I love my crossovers. Should I put the Age Gap tag? I mean, I’m only in this for the old married couple vibes. I physically don’t know how to write porn, or light porn, or anything that is explicitly horny.
> 
> I’m doing my best, I swear. Leave a Kudos and comment if you enjoyed this chap!


	4. Fourth Flame

Lan Wangji is re-learning how to hold a brush with clumsy fingers when he overhears a conversation between the young lady who feeds and bathes him and her partner who changes his soiled napkins and cleans the room. They’re wives, if he’s not mistaken, going by how they thread their fingers together and kiss each other’s cheeks when they have to part for one reason or another.

Watching them, Lan Wangji can feel an immeasurable gap widen between his heart and reason. Though sombrely hopeful, he will yearn and he will long. He’ll sit through the scene of un-budded spring flowers during winter blossom as they blossom when the frost melts away. Lan Wangji must wait, if nothing else, even if his insides scream bitter jealousy from being torn away by the one person he’s dedicated his everything in his previous life. 

Lan Wangji keeps his head low, attention false while his written words on paper run true.

The voice that speaks first is comparable to the Golden Oriole Lan Xichen reared until its beak grew blunt and became too weak to sing anymore – a gift from Nie Huaisang on Lan Xichen’s first birthday since his seclusion ended, who he named Ming. Lan Wangji had witnessed his brother weeping when the little bird, free from its cage as long as it was in Lan Xichen’s presence, passed away peacefully in its sleep from old age.

The only pet Lan Xichen ever kept, the only rule he’d broken openly. Her voice is high and sweet, “Have I told you? The Hokage transferred the Uchiha heir into ANBU.” 

“Please,” Eiko-san, the other is called, scoffs. Lan Wangji likens her to the blue flame he’s seen in Wen Qing when she dubbed him worthy of her elusive presence without Wei Ying’s attendance. “Aren’t ANBU sign-ups private for a reason?”

“That Yuri girl told me, and she’s always had a mouth on her. Thinks she’s bound for something big just because she serves the main house. Neither of her parents are even Uchiha.”

Uchiha, the name rings a bell. The Uchiha Clan, alongside the Senju, are one of the founding clans of Konoha that possesses a powerful bloodline limit. Had his uncle revealed this? Perhaps his father? Probably both at some point. His mother preferred giving tongue twisters for Lan Wangji’s stubborn attempts at speaking. 

Lan Wangji has a feeling that this titbit of information will be important to know. Vital, even. 

Now, ANBU, bloodline limits. Lan Wangji has never heard of these in his life - not even after it’s translated slowly in his head while he studies. He may have to conduct more research, but from what he can gather, bloodline limits may be something like his own eyes? So everyone has a special power depending on their family… 

Hm, it certainly isn’t like cultivation where anyone could develop a core, although to what height and extent, such was determined by one’s talent and hard work. 

What about ANBU, then? Another clan in Konoha? No, the Uchiha the ladies speak of is an heir. Heirs don’t just get transferred like chickens from coop to coop. A transfer in position is more likely. Unless, ANBU is the name of a school.

It’s something, despite being nothing concrete _._

Lan Wangji resists the urge to pull at his hair in frustration, he’s done so once when relearning Konoha’s new system of titles and honorifics, soothing himself with the information that he can at least understand 80 percent of what they’re saying. 

“The only reason she got the job is because her boyfriend is friends with one,” Eiko-san’s wife continues. “At this rate, she’ll be out of a job soon enough, if she manages to keep her life at all. Shinobi despise birds that sing too much, too loudly, outside their cages.”

Shinobi, another term Lan Wangji couldn't fathom, requiring several days to comprehend because it isn’t aligned with any word in his mental library, and it had taken some time to realise that it was a job thanks to the frequency his parents and uncle said Shinobi. The details are still hazy, but Lan Wangji has enough shards of the vase to piece together. 

It is highly likely that his father is a Shinobi. The occupation seems to fight a lot, obey a de facto sect leader known by the title of Hokage - Konoha has _only_ gone through _three_ \- and are generally jack of all trades. 

Konoha must be quite young compared to the Gusu Lan Sect’s thousands of years of history and over twenty Sect Leaders. He likens Shinobi to rogue cultivators to make things easier for his understanding. Thus far, Lan Wangji has heard Shinobi complete tasks such as finding cats, watering rice fields, getting rid of bandits, protecting merchants, and a whole variety more. No job was ‘beneath’ them as long as it was paid and approved or ordered by the Hokage.

Lan Wangji deducts his parents both to be Shinobi. Most likely, he’ll be one too in the future. He isn’t particularly against obtaining the power he needs to protect Wei Ying for later, but to be at the beck and call of someone despite his free will… Lan Wangji has his reservations.

He hopes the Hokage is a good person. Good like his brother was. Lan Wangji listens on; it’s not eavesdropping if they’re talking so loudly and openly.

“Right,” Eiko-san hums. “The Uchiha heir, huh. The prodigious first son? The little Patriarch?”

Lan Wangji swallows the irritated grunt that threatens to escape him. What - who is a _patriarch_?

“Little? Such a cute way to call him, love.”

“He certainly was _little_ when he fought in the war. Got a title from it anyway. Am I right? Unless you mean the second son that’s as Uchiha as an Uchiha can be.”

“As much as his Nii-san is the opposite, but yes, we’re thankfully on the same page.”

“Drama queen,” Eiko-san plays with the ribbon on her forehead. She sounds fond. “But thank the Sage for that. Shinobi clans are generally quiet with the emotional-capacity of a brick. Would do good to have some variety in the lot.”

Chika-san, the lady who spoke first, rolls her eyes. “Inuzuka notwithstanding.”

“Everyone has their quirks. The Uchiha love only one person in the entire world. Poor things, I guess. Wish the Hyuuga were the same. Instead we get a-” She stops herself, pointer finger harshly tapping her covered forehead as if in offense. “-This.”

“I’d offer my condolences but we’re on the same boat to Kiri. Anyway, Itachi-sama adores his Nii-san, Iruka-sensei told me when we went drinking last week. You would remember if you listened to me instead of staring at my-” Lan Wangji knows that tone. Wei Ying uses the same one on him often when he catches Lan Wangji’s wandering eyes and hands on his naked body in bed.

“... I was saying, the boy stared down some poor boy when he followed the _little Patriarch_ to the academy for something. Apparently, he’d had claimed the sky red and Itachi-sama looked up to his older brother too much to believe otherwise. Fugaku-sama was livid!”

Eiko-san bursts into laughter, voice high and shaky. “The whole of Konoha knows Fugaku-sama would appoint Itachi-sama as heir if he weren’t only four this year.”

The ladies lower themselves to sit with their legs tucked beneath their body - in seiza, while responsibly keeping a close eye on Lan Wangji. Their heads lean into one another, shoulders touching, and Lan Wangji has already completed a few sentences that turned out less than subpar which terrifies him more than he dares to admit. 

(Heavens, Lan Wangji misses his husband, his soulmate; his absolutely worship-worthy storm of a man, Wei Ying.)

For some reason, this Patriarch his caretakers keep mentioning reminds Lan Wangji of his husband's innocuous pranks. Other than burying the young disciples in soil to help them grow, another favourite of Wei Ying’s was to feed them harmlessly incorrect information.

Birds can read minds, for example. Trees were blue and that dogs loved to feast on human flesh _so steer clear, my baby Lans!_

“He’s made his displeasure known many times when he’d failed to beat the disobedience out of his first.” Chika-san agrees with good-humoured amusement. Reciting theatrically, “Supposedly queued to graduate the same age as the White Fang’s son, yet he turns up in the same graduating class as the Copy-nin because Fugaku had to spend an extra year trying to tame the little beast for public eyes!” 

“But to no avail.” Eiko-san smirks, clearly reminiscing. “I do sympathise a bit with Fugaku-sama. Kid refused to respond to his name so they changed it entirely! And yet it’s still his first he boasts about the most.” 

(The banquet Fugaku had gotten drunk at made clear to everybody what the Uchiha head thought about his rambunctious, unruly, eerily genius first born. He adored him, to put it shortly, even if he shot his father’s blood pressure to the moon and back.)

“The main line Hyuuga _wish_ they had the little Patriarch carrying their precious blood. A never seen before _prodigy,_ ” Mika-san says with light mockery, but then her tone softens. “I’ve met the boy before; he’s a true delight, really. Nothing like those arrogant Shinobi Clans who strut about as if they own the place. Took a punch for me, he did. And then punched the sorry excuse of a man right back.”

“Careful, wife. You’re still a Hyuuga in the end. Don’t want any of the main lines hearing you.”

“What’s it matter to me?” She harrumphs. “They don’t give a shit about us side-branch members anyway. The only time they do is when they slap this fuc- horrendous seal on us once we’re of age. Or if they’re the twin brother of someone in the main line. Though I can’t say I’m jealous.”

She turns her head to fully regard Lan Wangji, eyes pitying and empathetic, a hint of cold anger simmering behind an indescribable pain. Lan Wangji has long stopped practicing his calligraphy in favour of pretending to read a book to seem more convincing. “Neji-sama has three years, maybe less.”

“Three years. He’d be four,” Chika-san exhales breathily, her expression fearful. “In a clan like this I’m grateful we can’t have children, Eiko. To damn them to servitude is to damn them to living. Our jobs will do. Look, my love, Neji-kun has your eyes,” she jokes wryly. 

“He does.” Lan Wangji hears Eiko-san huff out a sombre reply. Well, Lan Wangji certainly isn’t anxious to learn what will happen to him in three years. Not at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get to responding your comments (in the past chap) super quick everyone. Currently chatting with a friend while I'm posting this. I've read it all and loved each and every one of your responses to this work! 
> 
> Also yes, this chapter was dedicated to WWX who I couldn't wait to include ASAP. We all have a hint in his role in Konoha now!
> 
> As always, stay safe and strong. Comment and Kudos if you liked this. The support fuels me!


	5. Fifth Flame

Evidently, he doesn't need to wait to see what happens in three years' time because only some months later, when Konoha’s tropical weather turns slightly cooler, Lan Wangji is woken up by a sudden rush of resentful energy. Thick and malicious, an undesirable sea of miasma that threatens to drown the clan compound. 

“All branches of Hyuuga!” his uncle bellows somewhere in the distance, hazy as a dream. “The Hokage summons us! The Nine-tails has come free! Those unfit for battle, take the children and make way to the monument! Shinobi, come with me!”

The abrupt introduction is frankly shocking, to say the least, and familiar and nauseating all at once. Dread sneakily settles in Lan Wangji’s middle when he realises how utterly helpless he is. 

Not to mention how he can hardly barely breathe. He’s no cultivation to speak of, no defense against the rush of hatred seeping through the walls like the solid wood and metal were merely sponges to do so. Lan Wangji’s throat tightens, chokes with the force of _killthemkillthemkill_ him _-_

Faintly, he hears an enraged roar boom. There’s the sound of metal clashing, subtle and sharp whistles of something - so many things, so many unknown variables, being thrown about and -

More crashes. Of buildings and safety and the kindlings of an ordinary night. More irony tangs of blood filling his nose -

People are crying; _children_ are crying. And screaming, and running - _Grab Hinata-sama and go!_ \- It’s also warm, hot, even. Worse than Konoha’s usual humid heat. Worse than the heat waves that swelter over the Unclean Realm during Qingming. Lan Wangji had detested it in the beginning, used to the cool weather in Gusu. 

“Neji!” His father crashes into the room, his quick and short breaths belying his anxiety. 

Lan Wangji’s eyes snap open. _When had he closed them?_ He feels… heady, feverish, like the world around him is moving while he must exert an effort of two lifetimes to remain still. Sweat soaks through his clothes and it’s like a waterfall had chosen to take home underneath his skin. Lan Wangji’s consciousness flags, falters. The calloused palm supporting his head is cool against the unbearable press of burning resentment. “Tou-san will protect you,” his father mumbles against sweat-slicked cheeks. 

Does Konoha have moving corpses as well? Fierce corpses, also? _His_ _Wei Ying…?_

His heart has terrible timing, but Lan Wangji’s hope has always been quite the optimist.

With what silver of flickering consciousness Lan Wangji keeps, he realises how something isn’t right. Resentful energy shouldn’t be so thick, so cloying. More like dragging sludge than a sharp kind of energy.

Nose buried in the crook of his father’s neck, Lan Wangji can barely smell anything but the faintest cling of smoke and bland soap. How strange, that Shinobi don’t like scented things while most cultivators loved indulging in scented pouches on their waists. Lan Wangji’s no different, admittedly not as cut off from the world as people think, lighting the sandalwood incense in his room more often than he should. 

Wei Ying never complained. Adored the scent – his husband’s scent, actually, and would help light it when Lan Wangji didn’t, wordlessly sometimes, which said a lot. Sandalwood calmed his headaches and insecurities, chased the nightmares away when the diseased Jiang and Wen remnant’s death anniversaries crept close.

Lan Wangji would hug him through the night, skipping out on their everyday-is-everyday activities. Just feeling each other, skin on skin, pressing soft and chase kisses where his lips may land. Whispers, low and sweet and sincere: “Not your fault,” Lan Wangji would say. “Not your fault,” Wei Ying would echo back on other starlit nights. “Lan Zhan did his best. I did not leave because of you, but came back and stayed.”

He doesn’t remember being passed on to another Hyuuga clan member and escaping underneath the Hokage monument.

His consciousness returns to him slowly, black dots spotting behind his eyes.

“Good evening,” a childish voice says next to him, peering down with one of the most intense gaze Lan Wangji has had the opportunity to see on a boy as young as four or five. He looks about A-Yuan’s age when Wei Ying unofficially adopted him. Blearily, Lan Wangji wonders if this is what it feels like to talk to himself.

No longer is Lan Wangji supported on someone’s chest or arm. He’s tucked in a sizable crib wrapped in a blanket printed with yin-yang symbols surrounded by short lines. Lan Wangji fixes a stare back, curious at the equally curious child holding a swaddle of blankets of his own, this one decorated with something that looks like a… fan? Though on the stranger side.

He perhaps remembers Nie Huaisang owning a fan like it.

“Excuse me, Hyuuga-san.” The boy sounds just as solemnly polite as Lan Wangji in the past, save for the slight lisp after every ending syllable. “You will have to share space with my younger brother. His name is Uchiha Sasuke. I hope you don’t mind.”

His forefinger presses Sasuke’s forehead. The boy’s lips quirks into a small smile.

He looks at Lan Wangji’s blank face and does the same as an afterthought. “Let me introduce myself,” he says with a polite bow, graceful for his age. “My name is Uchiha Itachi.”

Silence. They both aren’t much of a talker, it seems. Lan Wangji watches the boy’s dark eyes flicker behind him, the noise oddly subdued despite there being so many of them crammed into one place. The stench of sweat and fear is particularly sour and heavy.

“My Nii-san says the village is under attack,” he starts again. Lan Wangji thinks Itachi is probably anxious. That’s… normal, yes? Even though he talks and acts a lot more maturely than his age. Lan Wangji can empathise. He used to be that child, a lifetime ago. 

It’s rather endearing.

“Don’t be scared,” he continues, but the white-knuckled grip on the crib can be said to be more of a comfort for the child than the younger infants who know nothing of fear yet. “My Nii-san is strong. The strongest,” Itachi quietly rambles, still two times slower than Wei Ying’s normal talking speed. “He’ll protect us. He fought in the… the Third Shinobi War. Many people died, but my Nii-san didn’t. He and Kaka-nii-san became Jounin at thirteen. He asked me to protect Sasuke.”

Pity unfurls underneath Lan Wangji’s ribs. He wishes he could land a comforting shoulder on the boy’s shoulder. Offer words that aren’t rules, something empathetic and hopeful.

A-Yuan needed such during Lan Wangji’s war. Itachi needs it now – not to mention both are children who’d only reach up to Lan Wangji’s shins. Lan Wangji gurgles instead, pulls up a rare smile.

How nostalgic. A-Yuan’s memory can be as comparable as his other father at times, but Lan Wangji used to smile for him after the nightmares so that six to nine-year-old A-Yuan would stop shaking and sobbing and unknowingly grinding Lan Wangji’s already shattered heart into fine dust.

The attempt works somewhat. Itachi inhales and exhales deeply and lifts his hands off the crib’s edge to smoothen his ruffled hair reaching just above his shoulders. “I don’t know your name, Hyuuga-san, but I’ll protect Sasuke and you too.”

Lan Wangji gurgles again, adding in a babble or two for show. Sasuke slumbers peacefully beside him. He appreciates the thought.

//

His stamina is not what it once was, and exhaustion fishes up sleep from Lan Wangji, brings it to the surface of his mind. Lan Wangji closes his eyes as the protective intensity of Itachi’s dark eyes is replaced with something more whole.

The last he hears are the concerned shouts of a familiar voice, Itachi’s bubbling happiness in the small delighted break in his soft-spoken voice saying one word: “Nii-san!”

Sasuke’s weight disappears beside him, leaving fading traces of warmth he can’t feel. Lan Wangji unconsciously frowns and dreams of the past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Now we all know what day this chapter was - the birth of our Naruto! Yay! And Wangxian being so close yet so far hahaha. I really liked the idea of the soft-spoken Itachi picking after WWX's rambling when he's feeling particularly overwhelmed. It's not very obvious to people who don't know him well though, since he rambles at normal talking speed. Cute! Is what I'm trying to get here. And very self-indulgent. I hope you all think so too. 
> 
> On a side note: I'm thinking of putting 'older brother', 'younger brother' etc. as it is, but only putting the japanese terms like Nii-san when someone is addressing that person. Will it make it more enjoyable to read for all of you? Like, neater. Also, should jutsu names be in English? I think I'd prefer them in English, easier to understand and stuff. But I'll keep the term Shinobi because ninja is a funny word to me. Like I can't take it seriously smh.
> 
> Stay strong and safe everyone. Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked this work! They fuel me. :))

**Author's Note:**

> I used a picture editor and Photoshop and signed up for Imgur just to explain my thought process y'all.
> 
> My brain at ass crack of not-technically-morning-yet: [*I hope nothing's wrong with the link.*](https://imgur.com/VaAhPjO)
> 
> Me, following up: [Conspiracy meme](https://66.media.tumblr.com/8c2806d13f33f1facc774d1be06c3699/tumblr_p648qsXFNv1whohbfo1_400.jpg)


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